<h2> <SPAN name="LVI"> </SPAN> CHAPTER LVI. <br/><br/> <span class="small"> FATAL ACCIDENT TO THE CARRIER. </span> </h2>
<p>Now, that little maid who with such strength, alike of mind and body,
had opened the paternal gate, and then bewailed her prowess, happened
to be the especial favourite of her good Aunt Esther. Therefore no
sooner had the Carrier begun his eventful homeward course, as
heretofore related, than Etty, who loved a forest walk and felt rather
dull without Zacchary, took Peggy's fat red hand, and, after a good
tea with Susannah, set forth for an evening stroll, to gather flowers
and hear the birds sing.</p>
<p>Almost before they had got well into the wooded places, Peggy shrank
away from a black timber shed, partly overhung by trees.</p>
<p>"Peggy not go there, Aunt Etty," she said; "goose in there, a great
white goose!"</p>
<p>"A ghost, you little goose?" answered Esther, laughing, for still
there was good sunset. "Come and show me; I want to see a ghost."</p>
<p>"No, no, no!" cried the child, pulling backward, and struggling as
hard as she had struggled with the gate; "Peggy see a white goose in a
black hole there, all day."</p>
<p>"Then, Peggy, stop here while I go and look. You won't be afraid to do
that, will you?"</p>
<p>Running bravely up to the hole in the boards, Esther saw, to her great
amazement, the form, perhaps the corpse, of a man, stretched at length
on the ground inside. It lay too much in the dark for the face to be
seen, and the dress was so swaddled with netting, and earthy, that
little could be made of it. A torn strip of cambric, that once had
been white, lay partly on the body and partly on the board. Esther
caught it up; she remembered having ironed something of this shape for
somebody once, who was going to be examined. She knew where to look
for the mark, and there she saw in small letters—"T. Hardenow."</p>
<p>Surprised as she was, she did not lose her wits or courage, as she
used to do. She ran to the door of the shed, tried the padlock, and
finding it fastened (as she had feared), made haste to the
grain-house, and seized a bunch of keys. Not one of them truly was
born with the lock, but one was soon found to serve the turn; then
Esther pushed back the creaking door, and timidly gazed round the
shadowy shed. She was quite alone now, for her little niece, with
short sobs of terror, had set off for home.</p>
<p>In the light admitted by the open door, young Esther descried a poor
miserable thing, helpless, still as a log, and senseless, yet to her
faithful heart the idol of all adoration. Gently, step by step, she
stole to the prostrate form, and knelt down softly, and reverently
touched it. She feared to seem to take advantage of a helpless moment;
and yet a keen joy, mixed with terror, shone in the eagerness of her
eyes. "He is alive, I am sure of that," she said to herself, as she
pulled forth a pair of strong scissors which she always carried; "he
is alive, but very, very nearly dead. What wretches can have treated
him like this?"</p>
<p>In two minutes, Hardenow was free from every cord and throng of
bondage; his lax arms fell at his sides; his legs (that had saved his
life by kicking) slowly sank back to their native angles, like a
lobster's claw untied, and his small and dismally empty stomach
quivered almost invisibly.</p>
<p>"Oh, he is starving, or downright starved!" cried Esther, watching his
white lips, which trembled with some glad memory of suction, and then
stiffened again to some Anglican dream. "After all, I have blamed
other folk quite amiss. He hath corded himself away from his victuals
to give way to his noble principles. But how could he lock himself in?
The Lord must have sent a bad angel to tempt him, and then to turn the
key on him."</p>
<p>Before she had finished this reasoning process, the girl was half-way
towards the cot of Tickuss, her heart outweighing her mind, according
to all true feminine proportions. She ran in swiftly upon Susannah,
sitting in the dusky kitchen and pondering over a very slow fire the
cookery of the children's supper. These good young children never
failed to go to see the pigs fed, and down at the styes they all were
at this moment, with no victuals come, and the pigs all squeaking,
because the pig-master was not at home.</p>
<p>This was most sad, and the children felt it; nevertheless they bore
it, knowing that their own pot was warming. But they too might have
squeaked, if they had known that out of their own pot Aunt Etty was
stealing half the meat and all the little cobs of jelly. It was as
fine a pot of stuff as ever Susannah Cripps had made, for she did not
hold at all with fattening the pigs, and starving her own children;
and she argued most justly, while Esther all the while was ladling all
the virtue out.</p>
<p>Etty had never been known to do anything violent or high-handed; yet
now, without entering into even the very shortest train of reasoning,
away she went swifter than any train, bearing in her right hand the
best dresser-jug (filled with the children's tidbits of nurture), and
in her left hand flourishing Susannah's own darling silver
wedding-spoon. Mrs. Leviticus longed to rush in chase of her; but ere
her slowly startled nerves could send the necessary tingle to her
ruminating knees, the girl was out of sight, and for her vestige
lingered naught but a very provoking smell of soup.</p>
<p>Now, in so advanced a stage of the world's existence (and of this
narrative) is it needful, judicious, or even becoming to describe,
spoonful by spoonful, however grateful, delicious, and absorbing, the
process of administering and receiving soup? To "give and take" is
said, by people of large experience in life, to be about the latest
and most consummate lesson of humanity; coming even after that extreme
of wisdom which teaches us to "grin and bear it." But in the present
trifling instance, two young people very soon began to be
comparatively at home with the subject. The opening of the eyes, in
all countries and creatures, is done a good deal later than the
opening of the mouth; the latter being the essential, the former quite
a fortuitous proceeding.</p>
<p>After six spoonfuls, as counted by Esther, Hardenow opened both his
eyes; after two or three more, he knew where he was; and when he had
swallowed a dozen and a bonus, scarcely any of his wits were wanting.
Still Esther, for fear of a relapse, went on; though her hand trembled
dreadfully when he sat up, with his poor bones creaking sadly, and
tried to be steady upon her arm, but was overbalanced by his weight of
brain. Instead of shrieking, or screaming, she took advantage of this
opportunity, and his bony chin dropping afforded the finest opening
towards his interior.</p>
<p>To put it briefly, he quite came round, and after twenty spoonfuls
vowed—with the conscience rushing for the moment into the arms of
common sense—that never would he fast again. And after thirty were
absorbed and beginning to assimilate, he gazed at Esther's smiling
eyes, and saw the clearest and truest solution of his "postulates on
celibacy." Esther dropped her eyes in terror, and made him drink the
dregs and bottom, with a convert's zealous gulp. And as it happened,
this was wise.</p>
<p>If any malignant persons charge him with having sold, for a mess of
pottage, man's noblest birthright, celibacy, let every such person be
corded up, at the longest possible date after breakfast, and the
shortest before dinner—or rather, alas! before dinner-time—let him
stay corded, and rolling about in a hog-house (as long as roll he can,
which never would approach Mr. Hardenow's cycle); let him, throughout
this whole period, instead of eating, expect to be eaten; then with a
wolf in his stomach (if he has one) let him lose his wits (if he has
any), and then let a lovely girl come and free him, and feed him, and
cry over him, and regard him—with his clothes at their very worst,
and cakes of dirt in his eyes and mouth—as the imperial Jove in some
Dictæan cavern dormant; and then, as the light and the life flow back,
and the power of his heart awakes, let there manifestly accrue thereto
a better, gentler, and sweeter heart, timid even of its own pulse, and
ashamed of its own veracity—and then if he takes all this unmoved,
why, let him be corded up again, and nobody come to deliver him.</p>
<p>Esther only smiled and wept at her patient's ardent words and
impassioned gratitude. She knew that between them was a great gulf
fixed, and that the leap across it seldom has a happy landing; and
when poor Hardenow fell back, in the weak reaction of a heart more fit
for pain than passion, she knelt at his side, and nursed and cheered
him, less with the air of a courted maiden than of a careful handmaid.
In the end, however, this feeling (like most of those which are
adverse to our wishes) was prevailed upon to subside, and Esther,
although of the least revolutionary and longest-established stock in
England—that of the genuine Crippses, whose name, originally no doubt
"Chrysippus," indicates the possession of a golden horse—Etty Cripps,
finding that the heart of her adored one had, in Splinters' opinion, a
perilous fissure, requiring change of climate, consented at last
(having no house of her own) to come down from the tilt, and go to
Africa.</p>
<p>For Hardenow, as he grew older and able to regard mankind more
largely, came out from many of the narrow ways, which (like the lanes
of Beckley) satisfy their final cause by leading into one another.
With the growth of his learning, his candour grew; and he strove to
bind others by his own strap and buckle, as little as he offered to be
bound by theirs. Therefore when two of his very best friends made a
<i>bonâ fide</i> job of it, and being unable to think their thoughts
out got it done by deputy, and sank to infallible happiness, Thomas
Hardenow pulled up, and set his heels into the ground of common sense,
like a horse at the brink of a quarry-pit; and the field of reason,
rich and gracious, opened its gates again to him.</p>
<p>Herein he cut no capers, as so many of the wilder spirits did, but
made himself ready for some true work and solid advantage to his race.
And so, before any University Mission, or plough-and-Bible enterprise,
Hardenow set forth to open a track for commerce and civilization, and
to fight the devil and slavery in the rich rude heart of Africa.
Besides his extraordinary gift of tongues, he had many other
qualifications—the wiriness of his legs and stomach, his quiet style
of listening (so that even a "nigger" need not be snubbed), his
magnificent freedom from humour (an element fatal to stern
convictions), and last not least, as he said to Etty, for a clinching
argument, his wife's acquaintance with the carrying trade.</p>
<p>Happy exile, how much better than home misery it is! But the House of
Cripps sent forth another member into banishment, with little choice
or chance of much felicity on his part. As there are woes more strong
than tears, so are there crimes beyond the lash. When the doings of
Leviticus were brought to light, and shown to be unsuccessful, a
council of Crippses was held in his hog-house, and a stern decree
passed to expatriate him. Tickuss was offered his fair say, and did
his very best to defend himself; but the case from the first was
hopeless. If he had wronged any other parish than Beckley, or even any
other as well, there might have been some escape for him. Cruelty,
cowardice, treason high and low, perjury to his own elder brother, and
eternal disgrace to his birthplace—there was not a word in the mouth
of any one half bad enough to use to him. The Carrier rose, and said
all he could say, for the sake of the many children; but weighty with
piety as he was, he could not stem the many-fountained torrent of the
Crippsic wrath. The pigs of Leviticus were divided among all the
nephews and nieces, and cousins (ere ever a creditor got a hock-rope
or a flick-whip ready), and Tickuss himself, unhoused, unstyed,
unlarded, and unsmocked, wandered forth with his business gone, like a
Gadarene swine-herd void of swine.</p>
<p>For years and years that fine old hog-farm was the haunt of rats and
rabbits; never a grunt or squeak of porker (ringing or rung
eloquently) shook the fringe of ivied shade, or jarred the acorn in
its cup, until a third son arose and grew up to Zacchary Cripps
hereafter. All the neighbourhood lay under a cloud of fear and
sadness, because of what Luke Sharp had done, not to others, but
himself. Luke Sharp, the greatest of all lawyers—so the affrighted
woodman says—may and must, alas, be seen (at certain moments of the
forest moon) rising on horseback from the black pool where his black
life ended, gaining the shore with a silent bound, and galloping, with
his arm held forth as straight as any sign-post, to the nook of dark
lane where he smote his son; and then to the ruined hut, wherein he
imprisoned the fair lady; and then to the rotting shed, in which he
corded and starved the great Oxford scholar.</p>
<p>Whether, for the assertion of the law, Luke Sharp is allowed by some
evil power thus to revisit the glimpses of the moon, or whether he
lies in silent blackness, ignorant of evil—sure it is that no one
cares to stay beyond the fall of dusk in that part of the forest.</p>
<p>But as soon as the lawyer's wife and son, by virtue of the poplar
mark, had found and quietly buried his disappointed corpse, they made
the very best of a broken business, as cheerfully as could be hoped
for. Each of them sighed very heavily at times, especially when they
were almost certain of hearing again, round the corner or downstairs,
a masterful and very memorable tread. Therefore, with what speed they
might, they let their fine old Cross Duck House, and fleeing all low
curiosity, unpleasant remark, and significant glance, took refuge
under the quiet roof of Kit's aunt Peggy, near High Wycombe, where he
had hoped to lodge, and woo his timid forest angel. Here Kit found
tardy comfort, and recovered health quite rapidly, by writing his own
dirge in many admirable metres, till, being at length made laureate of
a strictly local paper—at a salary of nil per annum, and some quarts
of ale to stand—he swung his cloak and lit his pipe in the style of
better days.</p>
<p>From those whom his father had wronged so deeply he would accept no
help whatever, much as they desired to show their sense of his good
behaviour. And when the second-best ambition of his life arrived by
coach—that notable dog, "Pablo"—if Christopher could have sniffed
lightest scent of Beckley, or Shotover, in the black dog-winkles of
his nostrils, the odds are ten to one that Oxford never would have
sighed (as all through the October term she did) at the loss of her
finest badgerer.</p>
<p>In spite of all this obstinacy, three people were resolved to make him
come round and be comfortable, settled, and respectable. To this they
brought him in the end, and made him give up fugitive pieces, sonnets,
stanzas to a left-hand glove, and epitaphs on a cenotaph. The Squire,
and Russel, and Grace could not compose their own snug happiness
without providing that Kit should be less miserable than his poetry.
So they married him to a banker's daughter, and—better still—put him
in the bank itself.</p>
<p>The loyalty of Mrs. Fermitage to her distinguished husband's memory
was never disturbed by any knowledge of that fatal codicil. Poor Mrs.
Sharp, as she slowly recovered from the sad grief wrought by greed,
more and more reverently cherished her great husband's high repute.
She rejoined him in a better world—or at least she set forth to do
so—without any knowledge of the blow he had given to her son's head,
and her own heart. Kit, like a man, concealed that outrage, and, like
a good son, listened to his departed father's praises. But in her
heart the widow felt that some of these might be imperilled, if that
codicil turned up. Long time she kept it in reserve, as a thunderbolt
for Joan Fermitage; but Pablo's arrival improved her feelings, and so
did the banker's daughter; and finally, on Kit's wedding-day, with a
sigh and a prayer, she took advantage of a clear fire and a rapid
draught—and the codicil flew through the chimney-pot.</p>
<p>As a lawyer's daughter, she revered such things. In the same capacity,
she knew that now it could make no great practical difference; for
Grace was quite sure of her good aunt's money. And again, as a widow
and mother, she felt what a stain must be cast on the name she loved
best, if this little document ever came to light—other than good
firelight.</p>
<p>But why should Esther have had no house of her own, as darkly hinted
above, so as to almost compel her to descend from tilt to tent? The
reason is not far to seek, and he who runs may read it, without
running out of Beckley.</p>
<p>Cripps, the Carrier, now being past the middle milestone of man's
life, and seeing every day, more and more, the grey hairs in his
horse's tail, lowered his whip in a shady place, and let his reins go
slackly, and pulled his crooked sixpence out, and could not see to
read it. And yet the summer sun was bright in the top of the bushes
over him!</p>
<p>"I vear a must; I zee no way out of un," Zacchary said to his lonely
self. "Etty is as good as gone a'ready; her cannot stan' out agin that
there celibacy; and none else understandeth the frying-pan. The Lord
knows how I have fought agin the womminses, seeing all as I has seen.
And better I might a' done, if I must come to it, many a time in the
last ten year. Better at laste for the brown, white, and yellow;
though the woman as brought might a' shattered 'em again. After all,
Mary might be a deal worse; though I have a-felt some doubt consarning
of her tongue; but her hath a proper respect for me, and forty puns to
Oxford bank—if her moother spaiketh raight of her; and the Squaire
hath given me a new horse, to come on whenso Dobbin beginneth to wear
out. Therefore his domestics hath first claim; though I'd soonder
draive Dobbin than ten of un. What shall us do now? Whatever shall us
do?"</p>
<p>Zacchary Cripps pulled off his hat in a slow perspiration of suspense;
for if he once made up his mind, there would be no way out of it. He
looked at his horse with a sad misgiving, both on his own account and
Dobbin's. The marriage of the master might wrong the horse, and the
horse might no more be the master's. Suddenly a bright idea struck
him—a bar of sunshine through the shade.</p>
<p>"Thou shalt zettle it, Dobbin," he cried, leaning over and stroking
his gingery loins. "It consarneth thee most, or, leastways, quite as
much. Never hath any man had a better horse. The will of the Lord
takes the strength out of all of us; but He leaveth, and addeth to the
wisdom therein. Dobbin, thou seest things as never men can tell of.
Now, if thou waggest thy tail to the right—I will; and so be to the
left—I wun't. Mind what thou doest now. Call upon thy wisdom, nag,
and give thy master honestly the sense of thy discretion."</p>
<p>With a settled mind, and no disturbance, he awaited the delivery of
Dobbin's tail. A fly settled on the white foam of the harness on the
off side of this ancient horse. Away went his tail with a sprightly
flick at it; and Cripps accepted the result. The result was the
satisfaction of Mary's long and faithful love for him, and the happy
continuance, in woodland roads, of the loyal race and unpretentious
course of Cripps, the Carrier.</p>
<p class="ctrtoppad">
THE END.</p>
<hr class="med">
<p class="ctrlarge">
NEW ISSUE OF LOW'S STANDARD NOVELS.</p>
<p class="ctr">
<i>Cloth elegant 2s. 6d.; picture boards, 2s.</i></p>
<p class="ctr">
The following are being published at short intervals:—</p>
<table summary="Books published at short intervals">
<tr>
<td class="strong">Lorna Doone</td>
<td class="center">By</td>
<td class="hang">R. D. Blackmore.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Far from the Madding Crowd</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Thos. Hardy.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Senior Partner</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Riddell.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Clara Vaughan</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">R. D. Blackmore.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">The Guardian Angel</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Oliver Wendell Holmes.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Her Great Idea, and Other Stories</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Walford.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Three Recruits</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Joseph Hatton.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">The Mayor of Casterbridge</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Thos. Hardy.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine; and
The Dusantes</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Frank R. Stockton, Author of "Rudder Grange."</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Adela Cathcart</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">George Macdonald.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Cripps, the Carrier</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">R. D. Blackmore.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Dred</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Beecher Stowe.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Trumpet-Major</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Thos. Hardy.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Daisies and Buttercups</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Riddell.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Guild Court</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">George Macdonald.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Mary Anerley</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">R. D. Blackmore.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">A Golden Sorrow</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Cashel Hoey.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Innocent</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Oliphant.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Sarah de Berenger</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Jean Ingelow.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong" valign="top">The Bee Man of Orn</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang" valign="bottom">Frank R. Stockton, Author of "Rudder Grange."</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Under the Stars and under the Crescent</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Edwin de Leon.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Hand of Ethelberta</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Thos. Hardy.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Vicar's Daughter</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">George Macdonald.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Some One Else</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Croker.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Out of Court</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Cashel Hoey.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Alice Lorraine</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">R. D. Blackmore.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Old Town Folk</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Beecher Stowe.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">A Pair of Blue Eyes</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Thos Hardy.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Half Way</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Miss M. Betham-Edwards.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong" valign="top">Ulu: An African Romance</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Joseph Thomson and E. Harris-Smith.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Two on a Tower</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Thos. Hardy.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Poganuc People</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Beecher Stowe.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Old House at Sandwich</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Joseph Hatton.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Tommy Upmore</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">R. D. Blackmore.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Stephen Archer</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">George Macdonald.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">John Jerome</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Jean Ingelow.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">A Stern Chase</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Mrs. Cashel Hoey.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="strong">Bonaventure</td>
<td class="center">"</td>
<td class="hang">Geo. W. Cable.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p class="ctr">
<i>To be followed by others.</i></p>
<br/>
<p class="ctrsmaller">
<span class="sc">London</span>: SAMPSON, LOW, MARSTON & CO.,<br/>
<i>Limited</i>,<br/>
<span class="sc">St. Dunstan's House, Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.C.</span></p>
<br/>
<div class="tn">
<p class="ctr">
Transcriber's Note:</p>
<p>Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note.</p>
<p>Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed.</p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr class="full">
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />